


Shadan

by uumuu



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Gen, Past Cannibalism, Transformation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-25 22:06:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14388078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uumuu/pseuds/uumuu
Summary: Maedhros and Curufin share a secret.





	Shadan

**Author's Note:**

> Turco = Celegorm  
> Cáno = Maglor  
> Tyelpo = Celebrimbor

“You don't want to take that off?” Maedhros asked, gesturing with his stump towards Curufin's neck.

Outside, a hissing wind bent trees and beat on the walls of the fortress, but inside the fireplace filled Maedhros's parlour with a cosy warmth. 

“I am...fine like this,” Curufin said, barely loud enough to rival the crackling of the fire.

Maedhros threw a couple more logs in it, and stoked it until it blazed even higher. Then he walked over to Curufin and took his cape off his shoulders, brushing the thick fur wrapped around his brother's neck in the process. Fox's fur, and Celegorm's gift, no doubt. 

Curufin thanked him with a weak smile, and immediately went back to looking outside.

Maedhros threw the cape over the back of an armchair and sat down next to the fireplace, silently observing his brother, newly arrived from Nargothrond. There was no mistaking Curufin's distress: Maedhros knew him too well. He doubted Curufin was that bothered by Finrod's death or by his mishap with the princess of Doriath and her man. By the separation from Celebrimbor, maybe, but for all he knew – for all anyone would ever know – Curufin had simply chosen to leave him behind, and didn't want to say so. 

Curufin's eyes wrinkled while he let his gaze wander over the withered winter landscape. Once he lifted a hand to his neck, as if to touch a very precise spot, but pulled it away at the very last moment. The hand closed into a fist and came to rest on Curufin's chest.

“My home is your home, Curvo, no matter what,” Maedhros said after a time, and waited for Curufin to acknowledge his words with a nod. “Are you sure you don't want to take that off?”

“Yes, quite sure. I -...I might have to go look for Turco –”

“He seemed rather ill-tempered. I don't think he will be joining us any time soon. Let him blow off steam as he wills.”

“If you say so.”

“Curvo, bare your neck.” 

When Curufin failed to comply, Maedhros added, “it's an order, brother. Come here.”

Curufin's face tightened, almost in fear, but he did as told. Whatever secrets and schemes Curufin might be occupied with, he had never disobeyed a direct order from his father or one of his older brothers, dutiful devoted Curufin. He came to stand in front of Maedhros and pulled the ends of his scarf out from under the thick coil of the fur, and unwound it slowly, carefully disentangling it from his neck. The reason for his care soon became obvious. Strange protrusions jutted out from his neck, pointed snags which resembled the fangs of a lion or large curved thorns.

Curufin cleared his throat, making the peculiar outgrowth ripple with the movement. He clutched the fur feverishly, stretching it between his hands. “I am not sure what these might be.” 

Maedhros stood up. Curufin kept his eyes down, likely expecting disgust or shock or something worse than disgust and shock. Maedhros lifted his hand to one of the things, skimmed the rugged tip and drew a finger down the length of it to the smooth, leathery base.

“The skin around them feels different. It's thicker and rough. Like bark or even –”

“Stone, I'd say.”

Curufin's head snapped up and their gazes met. 

“You...too?”

Maedhros nodded and proffered Curufin his stump. Curufin let go of the scarf and quickly undid the leather covering the severed end of his brother's arm. Thin filaments crept out of Maedhros's elbow, like fresh twigs. Some had begun twisting around one another and crossing over one another. But the most striking thing about Maedhros's stump was the growth that started right in the middle, where his bones were. It started squat and shapeless, but gradually thinned, and the tip had begun to fan out – like branches, or a brand new set of fingers.

“I was afraid at first –” Maedhros said in a whisper “– that it might be something Morgoth planted in me. That I was not rid of him. I would have killed myself. It's quite difficult for me to conceal anything about my body. I was...lucky that Cáno came to abide with me during the Dagor Bragollach. I forbid anybody else to touch me. Cáno didn't ask questions, and after we had dealt with the last skirmishes, he told me he has a similar growth, on his chest.” 

Curufin made an assenting sound, too relieved to say anything meaningful. 

Maedhros bent and kissed his forehead. “When did you start?”

“A few years...a couple of years before the Dagor Bragollach, yes...yes around that time.” Curufin took a steadying breath. “At first it was only hard spots under my skin. I thought it might be a stiffness of the muscles or another such ailment, but they slowly grew until my skin broke, and yet I felt no pain. I could still make do with high-collared tunics in Nargothrond, at first.”

Not towards the end, however, and when Beren attempted to choke him he had his hands pierced and ripped through as Curufin pushed him off. 

“I tried cutting them and filing them. That did hurt, and accomplished nothing. I wanted to try burning them, too, but Turco prevented me. He has a growth on his back, a large thing by now, a second set of ribs, sprouting out of his spine and spreading out to his sides.”

“I see,” Maedhros said as he sat down and pulled Curufin down with him. Curufin settled against his side, gratefully accepting his embrace. 

“Do you think it has anything to do with...eating Father?” he asked, while Maedhros caressed his back.

“Maybe. It was a very un-elven thing to do.” 

“It was.”

Maedhros closed his eyes, then sighed, a sigh filled with longing and bitter craving. “We ate Father like blood-starved beasts.”

“We were losing him.”

Curufin touched his brother's mind and Maedhros opened up to him as he only did with his brothers. They shared the recollection – the acrid smell of burnt flesh mingled with the putrid stench of death rising from battlefield. Their father's heart still pulsating in Celegorm hand, gone in seven bites. Blood tasted like steel on their tongues, and yet the memory of it had crystallised into something sweet and heady, something irreplaceable, never to be had again.

“Father is a part of us now,” Curufin murmured, tentatively feeling the shape of Maedhros's outgrowth. It felt indeed like his own, except for the fact that it seemed to be more supple. “I would do it again.”

“So would I.” 

“How are we going to hide it if the...things keep growing or if we get more of them?”

“Well, for one we don't have that many relatives to deal with any longer. Or I guess it would be more correct to say that we don't have any relatives left who would want to deal with us.”

Curufin furrowed his brow, a little baffled. “You don't seem overly concerned.”

“It is something we share, something that unites us. It is proof that we share one fate. In my heart I cannot see it as such an awful thing.”

“You think the twins and Moryo have it too?”

“They must.” Maedhros hesitated for an instant, then asked, “what about Tyelpo?”

Curufin's fingers halted on the base of Maedhros's stump. “If he has it he never said a word of it to me.”

“Do you want me to order him to come here?”

“No.” Curufin's refusal was trenchant. “He won't forget whose son he is.” 

“No, he shall not.” Maedhros squeezed his brother a little tighter, and lifted his other arm. “This outgrowth might also mean that our fate can be changed. The Valar never mentioned anything like this. It is clear they aren't omniscient. They certainly didn't know that Morgoth was going to attack Formenos, at any rate, remember? If they did and didn't warn us that we were in danger they are as guilty as him.”

“You are too charitable, as always.”

“Charitable? The Valar are knowingly letting Morgoth torture people. I may be tainted, but I will never forgive them, never.”

“That is the least,” Curufin hissed. “Turco is like you. He feels the same about the Valar, yes, but I mean...he is not too concerned with this growth, for now. I can't help but worry. I ask myself questions – why would it happen? How does it even work, and how much will our bodies change? What if we stop looking like elves altogether? If I could just be sure that it is happening because we are made of Father twice over then I would accept it, no matter what.”

“Curvo...you never change,” Maedhros said with a laugh full of fondness. He pulled Curufin even closer, even though the spikes on his brother's neck dug into his chest. “Well, if Tyelpo doesn't have anything strange growing out of his skin, it might be a point in favour of your theory. Or it could be the Oath, taking root in us. Would that be acceptable to you?”

“It would still be because we're made of Father twice over...of his words if not his flesh. Yes, of course it would.”

“At any rate, we are together now, and when Cáno and Turco are here too we will discuss this matter more at length, if it can help soothe your fears. I am so glad to have you with me again. You don't know how worried I was after you and Turco fled Himlad. Perhaps I should have ordered you two to return here sooner.”

Curufin smiled, and made a noise of assent. His eyes drifted shut. The room was warm, and as he snuggled up against his big brother his tiredness caught up with him. 

Maedhros cradled him. If he had still had both hands he would have lifted him in his arms, taken him to bed and tucked him in, as he did when Curufin was a young elf and an excess of work often left him exhausted. “Ah, baby brother, if this thing allows me to properly hold you again, I won't mind looking like a monster,” he whispered into Curufin's hair and kissed the top of his head.

**Author's Note:**

> This should be the very start of a "demon" Fëanorians I've had in mind for a while (not demons in the traditional/Christian sense or balrog-like or anything like that). I'm not sure I'll ever write more.


End file.
